


Seven of Pentacles

by SanctuaryTrin



Category: Jynnic - Fandom, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Danny Rayburn esque Orson Krennic, F/M, Gardener Krennic, Jynnic AU, Rich Girl Jyn, flowery smut, garden sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9523037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanctuaryTrin/pseuds/SanctuaryTrin





	

“Hold up!” he had called out, and rolled the cigarette into the corner of his mouth as he took loping strides toward the humming car. He signaled to the chauffeur to roll down Jyn’s window, then leaned in and blew a mouthful of smoke off to the side before giving Jyn one of his wide, curved grins. 

“Keep climbing trees, Rebel,” he had said, and handed her a stem of forget-me-nots from the garden. 

Jyn could only smile before he stood up and whacked the side of the car. He walked away, backhand waving, wild dark hair amongst tendrils of smoke. 

 

Jyn kept the pressed forget-me-nots in her journal. They were late bloomers and heavily seeded, and most of the seed pods broken off from repeated handling, but the flowers remained. 

Orson Eyes, she had called them once, and he had laughed at her, but the next year he planted twice as many under her bedroom window. 

She wondered if they were still there. 

 

She hadn’t been home during the spring in five years, and summers were always spent in Italy or Spain. Always a beach, with strange, foamy waters lapping at her toes and the sky sharp with the hysterical cries of unknown birds. Her father sleek and tanned and smiling in his deck chair. 

“Is Mr. Krennic doing well?” she would ask at Christmas.

“Oh, well enough” or

“Fine, fine. Returning in February as usual” or

“Same as always, still no Missus”

 

“Well. Tell him I said hello,” she would say.

 

  
The car pulls up to the house and Jyn walks around the side of the great stone structure, journal in hand.

She remembers rows of peony bushes, buds tight and sticky with sap, ants delirious from it. 

“The ants crawl all over the buds and it stimulates the bush to open the blooms,” he had told her, a large finger touching the glazed surfaces, her fingers tugging at her lip as she listened. 

She passes the lavender bushes, silvery grey in winter, now enormous spiked puffs of green and violet. Clumps of lily of the valley tucked into shady corners, their waxy bells faded and papery from the early June heat. The dark spice roses and the damask roses and the apple scented eglantine roses.

A sea of forget-me-nots under her window, planted en masse.

“Welcome home,” says a ragged voice behind her.

Jyn turns and sees him, squinting at her in the full sunlight, hair lightened and silvery but still wild. 

“Thank you, Mr. Krennic,” she replies. 

“Wait a minute. Who are you?” he says with a tilt of his head, and Jyn smiles.

“You know who I am.”   


“No...I don’t think I do, I knew a college girl who went away to learn great things, but this is an accomplished young lady in front of me.” 

His eyes crinkle at the corners with humor, and Jyn holds her journal to her chest like a shield. Her face feels hot. 

He gestures at the undulating blue flowers with a restless hand.

“Have you grown out of those? I can plant something different next year.”

Jyn sees a change in his expression. A wincing tightness that causes her pain. An expectation of disappointment. 

_ Don’t you know? _ she wants to say to him, but of course she doesn’t. 

“They’re my favorite, Mr. Krennic. I love them,” she says, and squeezes her journal so the leather creaks in her grip. 

He glances down and wipes his lips with the backs of his fingers, then smiles toward the grass, a low chuckle in his throat at some secret thought. 

“Am I invited to your fancy party tonight?” he asks, head still lowered, rocking from side to side like a nervous child.

“Of course you are.”

He looks up at her and his smile is lazy, sun warmed, and thoroughly male.

 

She wears her black dress because it’s chic and she feels armored in it. No brassiere or underwear, but she wears stockings and garters because she can feel them as she walks, and she thinks about Orson’s fingers on her skin. She puts her hair up and doesn’t wear jewelry because she wants her neck bared to him. She dresses as if performing a spell, weaving it around her in a way that only makes sense to her.

He’s standing in the corner of the room in a rumpled white dress shirt, holding a delicate champagne glass with two huge hands and scowling at Jyn’s guests. His sharp gaze flickers to her as she enters and for a moment it seems as if he’s going to approach her, but others descend upon her first and he downs his drink and retreats to the balcony.

Jyn spends agonizing minutes acknowledging her guests, answering questions, smiling, nodding, watching their gleaming teeth and conspicuous affectations, all while edging her way to the balcony doors.

By the time she gets there he is gone. 

 

The path to the gardener’s cottage is lined with forget-me-nots. Jyn in bare feet, shoes in hand along with her skirts, holding them up out of the dirt as she steps from flagstone to flagstone.

She can see his white shirt through the darkness as he paces in front of his cottage. Quick, angry strides. He doesn’t see her, even as she draws near to him. Pausing, his broad back to her, he strikes a match.

She lets her shoes drop to the ground.

“Orson…” 

He turns and shakes out the match, then takes the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. 

He drops them both and falls to his knees in front of her. Even in the pale, filtered moonlight Jyn can see his pleading eyes as he looks up at her. She lifts her skirts, gathering folds of silk into her fists, and gasps as Orson touches her. 

His hands slide up her legs, curving around her thighs, his fingers sliding under her garters and the tops of her stockings so he can touch her skin. 

She smells crushed green underneath him when he lies back and she follows, his huge hands on her bottom, pushing her forward until she’s straddling him and his hot, open mouth is on her sex.

Her short little moans sound like sobs as he devours her, his tongue penetrating her, then tracing upward to her clit where he circles and sucks with obscene growls in his throat. All she can do is breathe and open herself to him. Her blood is pounding in her ears, eyes squeezed shut, then opening wide as his teeth graze her clit, closing again slowly as she rides his tongue and he laps at her as if starved.Her legs tense and she bites her bottom lip, a delicious ache building sharply as she thinks about Orson with the dark brown hair and fire blue eyes who is now vigorously fucking her with his tongue.The wicked thought breaks the tension and pleasure surges through her in a hot rush. He holds her, drinking her in, then pressing his tongue against her clit so she can rub herself against him and ride out each pulse. 

He raises up and wraps his arms around her, holding her close, and his hair smells like sunlight.  He kisses her and Jyn can taste her own pleasure still clinging to his wet lips. His kisses are slow and soft from his swollen lips and she begins to discern past her own flavor into his. Rich and earthy and male. 

Then he is bending her back, pressing her down, hunched over her, and Jyn is panting underneath him, still hazy and limp from orgasm. 

His cock nudges her sex and he’s huge and hard and she wants it. She tips her head back as he drives into her, and the sound he makes is somehow vulnerable, somehow grateful, though it only exists as heat and breath against her neck.  She is lost among the dark branches above her, still satiated, but reveling in the heaviness of Orson’s body and the fullness of him inside her. He begins to say her name, and his cock stretches fuller and tighter, the thick ridge stroking her so she clenches and tugs his release from him. 

After a few breaths against her skin, he sits back, withdrawing from her, and puts his great, rough fingers on her clit. He presses hard and circles fast, forcing Jyn beyond her languid state into a fierce, biting orgasm, and she’s arching up, crying out, and pulling fistfulls of forget-me-nots from the grip of the earth. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
